


The Courtship of Dean Winchester

by FallingStories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Courtship, M/M, based on like bird mating rituals, idk - Freeform, the one i didn't do was building a nest because thats kinda weird even for cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingStories/pseuds/FallingStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel tries to court Dean without the hunter realizing what's happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Courtship of Dean Winchester

Castiel stared at the ceiling. He had been staying in the bunker for the last few weeks, but he had stayed behind while Sam and Dean went on a hunt in Oregon of all places. They had been gone over a week already, and wouldn’t be back for a few days at least.

It gave him time to think. Before they left, Cas had been avoiding Dean like the metaphorical plague. Sam he still had contact with, but he made excuses when Dean tried to talk to him or even spend a long period of time in the same room.

He couldn’t risk casual time spent together forcing him to ‘jump the gun’ on something that would take more time. Sam frequently said that Dean wasn’t very open to the idea, and while they’d discussed it, neither of them was sure how to broach the subject. Or even begin to make progress.

After all, it wasn’t every day that Castiel confessed his undying love to a man who forcefully and vehemently denied himself anything good in his life.

It would take a long time to even make Dean feel comfortable with any attention Cas gave him, and even longer to convince him that Castiel was sincere in any declaration he made. More than anything Cas feared total rejection, but Sam assured him there wasn’t, quote, ‘a snowball’s chance in Hell,’ end quote, that it could happen. The next worst was Dean refusing to believe on the basic principle that he didn’t deserve it.

Castiel had spent the first week of solitude rifling through the bunker’s resources, looking for something he could use, but even though they kept meticulous records of their members and their spouses, there was nothing on how to go about courting anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

After a lot of thinking, he had finally started to get an idea of what to do, but he had no idea if it could work. At least, if it all failed, he could pass it off as quirks of an angel who had spent time as a human and then gone back to being an angel. Dean probably wouldn’t press the issue considering Cas would be dead in six months without a new grace or going back to humanity.

And if he wanted humanity, he would have to figure out Dean first.

* * *

Dean and Sam stumbled down the stairs, their legs sore from running. A day and a half crammed in the car hadn’t really helped matters, but Dean was adamant this time, they were taking a break for at least three days before they got back to hunting.

There was a sound coming from the library. Dean frowned. He hadn’t left his music on, and even if he had it should have stopped playing by now.

He walked down the hall to the library, leaning against the door slightly. The first song that had played was already ending, but there was the space of maybe two seconds before the next one started, and well.

It wasn’t exactly the song that confused him, even though he thought he’d taught Cas to have better taste than this. No, it was more the fact that when the lyrics came in, Cas was _singing_.

At first he stumbled over the words, but Cas found his rhythm. “Mother mother, tell your children, I have suffered for my anger, there are wars that can’t be won.” It was okay for a Bon Jovi song, at least. Not the worst Cas could have picked by a long shot. _Runaway_ still made him cringe.

“Father father, please believe me, I am laying down my guns. I am broken like an arrow. Forgive me. Forgive your wayward son.” Dean closed his eyes slightly to listen, leaning against the library door. It started to open, so he straightened and held it still, hoping that Cas hadn’t noticed. He didn’t want to look like a freaking stalker.

And Cas’s voice sounded nice, especially when he hit the chorus. Dean just about choked when he heard Cas sing, “Every night we fall from grace,” and he crossed his fingers that Cas didn’t notice that either.

Sam came up behind him. “What’s he doing in there?” he whispered.

“Singing a frigging Bon Jovi song,” Dean answered. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed open the door.

Cas’s voice continued on strong until he caught sight of Dean. He faltered and tripped over the words, his cheeks flushing dark red.

“Oh,” he said. “Dean, you’re . . . back.”

“Yeah,” was all Dean could say. Cas was sitting at a table, with an open book in front of him. “So, what are you doing?” The song continued to play resolutely even while Cas was silent.

“I was looking for something on the Mark, I know you’re getting worried about its effects.”

“Damn right I’m worried,” Dean said. He was quiet for a few seconds before adding, “You’re not a bad singer, Cas. You should maybe pick some better quality songs, though. Who told you Bon Jovi was any good?”

Cas shook his head, still blushing. “I found it on Youtube.”

“Oh.” The silence stretched for longer. “Well, I’m just gonna go put my stuff away. See you at dinner or something, Cas.”

* * *

This one was going to be foolproof. Sam had informed him that Bon Jovi was a poor choice in musician, but the knowledge that Dean thought he was even okay at singing made him warm inside.

So he didn’t know all Dean’s favorite bands; that was all right. He knew Dean’s favorite foods, so he figured Phase Two would be at least incrementally more successful than Phase One. A few days later, he decided it was time to put the next step of the plan into action.

The kitchen was stocked. There was a full refrigerator and freezer waiting for Cas to raid it. And raid it he did.

He heated up the stovetop grill before laying down several hamburger patties. Provided he didn’t burn them he had faith it would work. The food would be appealing, he hoped.

Along with the burger, Castiel had a cherry pie in the refrigerator. He wished he had the time alone to make one from scratch, but premade would have to do. The oven was heating up for it.

Nervously Cas checked the hamburgers. They looked like they were coming along fine, so he added a few thin strips of bacon to the grill and watched them sizzle and crinkle into shorter and shorter pieces. The buns were a few days old, and the lettuce wasn’t the crisp thing it ought to be if it were freshly made, but Castiel knew Dean could overlook a few imperfections. He’d done it with him, after all.

The burgers were very close to done when Cas slid the pie into the oven and did up the bun so it was as close to perfect as wilting lettuce and soft-not-crisp bread could be. There was a square of cheese positioned perfectly and waiting for the beef to melt it into a gooey mess.

Cas maneuvered the patty onto the bun and positioned the warm bacon on top before placing the other bun on top carefully and bringing it out to the war room, where Dean was busy examining a translated document of Japanese origin.

Dean glanced at him and Cas’s shoulders sagged in relief when his face lit up. “Cas, you cooked? Awesome.”

Castiel smiled slightly, keeping his eyes on Dean. “This is for you.”

“Guess we’re lucky, you could’ve burned the bunker down.” Dean bit into the burger and made a delighted face. “Jesus, Cas, is there bacon in this?” He moaned a little as he savored it, Castiel standing by him awkwardly.

“You like it, then?”

“How about you cook all the time?” Dean said when he swallowed. “Hell yeah, I like it, Cas, thanks.”

Cas stayed with him for a while as they talked about Sam and Metatron and Crowley and wondered when the hell their lives went sideways (even though Castiel knew when his own did, down to the second; it was hard to forget the moment he pulled his soulmate out of Hell).

Dean sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Do you smell something burning?”

Castiel felt the color drain from his face and his heart sank. “Oh.” He slowly got up and walked into the kitchen. After a second he walked back in. “Do we happen to have a fire extinguisher?”

Fortunately the two of them got the flames under control. The pie was more or less charcoal now. Cas held back his despair until he was safely tucked away in his dark and plain bedroom. It had been going so well, too. Dean had been talking to him and enjoying their time together, and he liked the food.

Well, then. Castiel would have to move on to Phase Three.

* * *

Dean buttered and salted his popcorn liberally. He, Sam, and Cas were planning to marathon the Star Wars movies together. Of course, Cas had to first recite the entire plotline of A New Hope before they could agree that it was a good idea, but even if he knew the story, that wasn’t the same thing as really watching it.

His eyes fell on the unfortunate oven. It hadn’t been damaged, not really, but for the past few days the whole kitchen smelled like smoke and burned pie. What a waste of pie.

The pie was a nice idea, anyway. Dean had to admit the idea that Cas was making a pie just because Dean liked it appealed to him, but realistically Cas probably just wanted to surprise them with his new cooking skills.

Too bad that went south.

Sam was already waiting in a room with the first movie already in the DVD player. He grabbed the popcorn from Dean. “Where’s Cas?”

“I don’t know, man, I haven’t seen him.” Dean slouched on his side of the couch. “He’d better hurry up, we can’t wait forever—” He paused. Cas was standing in the doorway.

 _“What in the . . .”_ Dean whispered.

Cas was wearing a white t-shirt. A very tight, very clean white t-shirt. It was riding up on his hips, exposing defined hipbones Dean never knew were there, and damn it but those jeans – where the hell did Cas get those jeans? They were pretty tight, too, and if they didn’t make Cas look hot as all hell then Dean was a frigging fish.

His eyes coasted up to Cas’s face as he shifted in his position on the couch. Cas’s sex-hair look was turned up to eleven, he had to have gel in it or something because that freaking gorgeous style was not something that came naturally.

Dean realized how long he’d been staring and closed his mouth. Sam was smirking at him knowingly, and Dean kicked him, hoping Cas hadn’t realized how inappropriate those looks were.

Sam started the movie then, and Cas sat down between the two of them to watch. Dean’s gaze kept drifting to where Cas’s tanned skin lay exposed and smooth between his jeans and his shirt. And God damn it, look at those muscles. Cas usually wore longer sleeves, but it was impossible to ignore the strength in his arms now. Dean found himself wondering if Cas was that ripped all over and forced himself to pay attention to what was happening on screen.

But his eyes kept catching on the stubble on Cas’s chin and his mind kept bringing him images of what Cas might look like underneath those tight tight clothes, producing surprisingly realistic sensations of how Cas’s stubble would feel rubbing against Dean’s clean-shaven face if their lips were pressed together and oh God if there had ever been a worse time to think about how he felt for Cas watching a goddamn movie marathon next to the man was it.

The movies drew to a close around eleven-thirty. Dean had never been so relieved when the last of the ending credits rolled and he could escape.

* * *

This part would require Sam’s help. Castiel couldn’t exactly propose a trip to the bar in town on a Friday night, Dean would immediately suspect something was up. However, it was easy for Sam to convince his brother that a night out on the town would be fun, especially since they hadn’t found a hunt yet.

Cas didn’t even mind being relegated to the backseat of the Impala. He was wearing a shirt he and Sam found on clearance at a secondhand store when they were finding him new clothes to wear. It had a band logo on it, apparently one Dean approved of given the thumbs-up he got when he showed up ready to go. He didn’t have quite the same intent as he did the other night when he dressed, but looking attractive couldn’t hurt.

And if he liked how Dean’s gaze lingered on him when they were getting into the car, Cas wasn’t about to say anything.

Dean leaned up on the bar and ordered them whiskey. Castiel wasn’t sure where he stood on drinking tonight; he still had a lot of stolen Grace left, even though it faded more and more with each day, so it was nearly impossible to tell if alcohol would affect him at all or to what extent. And he didn’t want to risk intoxication messing with his intentions.

Finally he decided it was worth the burst of courage to get a little buzzed, and he would just have to hope it wouldn’t push him to do something insane like kiss a stranger, or worse, Dean.

After a few rounds had passed, Castiel could only just feel the sensation of intoxication. He had to remain hopeful that tonight would work out okay. The music in the bar was loud enough that it was difficult to maintain a conversation, but Cas noticed Sam was chatting with a woman around his age. Good. That left Dean with very little else to do but watch, and maybe join in.

Another drink later, and Cas was on the dance floor. Dean was glancing around, apparently wondering where he’d gone. Castiel knew he wasn’t very in tune with the music or modern dance patterns, but he did understand his body’s motor fuction in a way most humans couldn’t.

He moved with a grace, which even in Castiel’s head sounded ironic, but he turned and saw Dean’s eyes on him and made a point to sway his hips smoothly.

Avoiding eye contact was essential. Dean couldn’t know that Cas was trying to attract him intentionally. He needed to appear spontaneous and innovative despite how many tactics of seductive dancing he’d studied before tonight. This couldn’t look like a planned attempt to make Dean notice him.

Castiel slipped as he moved across the floor, a spilled drink making his foot slide unexpectedly.

He stumbled, trying to regain his balance and holding back a flood of Enochian curses that came to his lips. Then he felt a strong pair of arms grab him and help him straighten up.

“Thank you, Dea—” he stopped. The man wasn’t Dean, though he looked a little like him. Maybe it was the sandy brown color of his hair or the countless freckles on his face. “Thank you,” he said again, this time softer.

“Luke,” the man said, winking. “Careful there.”

“I assure you,” Castiel smiled, “It was a mistake.”

“Well, it was my drink that made you fall, so I think it’s only fair if I buy you one,” Luke said, gently guiding Cas to the bar. “You never said your name.”

“Cas- Castiel,” he said, catching himself before he gave his nickname. It was Dean’s first, no matter how charming this man tried to be. Cas was more interested in the other man, further down the bar, the man who was now glaring at them.

He smiled in mild satisfaction, but then said, “Thank you, but I’ve had enough to drink tonight.” For a moment he wondered what this man would say if he informed him that he was a millions-of-years-old celestial being.

Luke’s smile stayed. “Then at least let me give you my number.”

“I don’t have my phone with me,” Castiel tried to excuse himself. But Luke grabbed his hand. “Then here.”

Seven digits were scrawled across his forearm in black ink before Castiel could protest.

When Cas returned to the dance floor, a pissed-off Dean quickly joined him. “Who the hell was that?” the hunter asked.

“A man,” Castiel answered, avoiding answering the question at all.

“Give me a second to find Sam, we’re getting out of here.”

Cas was disappointed that the night was ending so early, but he hoped that at least Dean had felt the stir of jealousy in his chest when Luke caught Cas in strong bare arms and smiled the mischievous smile that looked so like Dean’s own.

* * *

Dean yawned, paging through a newspaper with a red pen in hand and a coffee within reach. The weekend had been unusually quiet. After the three of them came back from the bar with varying degrees of drunkenness, Dean had barely seen anything of Cas and Sam had been on the phone with the girl from the bar for like an hour the next morning.

But now it was Monday, and Mondays were supposed to change things. There had been several odd murders in a small Nevada town, and according to police reports the deaths had been pretty suspicious, almost definitely their kind of thing.

Cas sat down next to him with his own coffee, eyelids sagging with exhaustion. Dean was about to ask what he’d been up to all weekend, but then Cas’s hand brushed his and he felt like he’d been electrified. Which, incidentally, was completely unfair, because Cas’s skin was warm and tan and goddamnit Dean had to keep it together.

“Dean?” Cas was talking to him. Oh.

“Yeah?”

Castiel sighed. “Are you alright? You’ve been acting strangely for the past few weeks.”

Ha. Because he totally hadn’t been acting strangely because all of a sudden Cas was singing in that damn deep voice of his and cooking for him like he really truly cared, and wearing clothes that made Dean feel warm and dancing until some guy, some stranger, tried to pick him up – no, Dean was fine. He couldn’t believe how oblivious Cas was to how much he’d changed over the last week or so.

“I’m good.” Dean left it at that.

“Mmm.” Cas reached up and brushed Dean’s hair, and _that,_ well, whoa.

“Cas? What are you . . .” Cas withdrew his hand as quickly as he’d brushed it through Dean’s messy bedhead.

He held up a scrap of paper. “This was stuck in your hair,” he said, sounding so completely innocent that Dean had to let it go.

Throughout the course of the next two days, Dean counted thirteen instances of unnecessary contact. Cas’s hands tickled across his neck, so lightly Dean was almost convinced he imagined it. Then when the two of them and Sam watched a movie together, Cas was leaning up against him in a way that would have felt too intimate to be accidental if Cas were human.

Maybe it _isn’t_ accidental, a small corner of his mind persisted. Dean kept telling that part of him to shut the hell up, it was worse than the constant reminder that he couldn’t even pull himself together enough to tell Cas how he felt.

By the next night, Dean had counted seven other times when Cas made contact that really didn’t have to happen.

The two of them were sitting at a table in the library. Luckily, Sam had already crashed in his room, or else maybe Dean wouldn’t have done what he did.

Cas was dozing off, slumped over an open book while still surrounded by stacks of others. The poor guy was obviously exhausted. Dean wondered how much sleep he got. He was an angel, he wasn’t supposed to need sleep at all, but here he was, snoozing and drooling a little on the pages of the book he rested on.

Dean sighed. It was high time he turned in, too. Without really thinking about it, he walked over to where Cas mumbled in his sleep. Carefully, he hoisted Castiel up until he was carrying him bridal-style.

“Oof,” he huffed as he gingerly tried to get a good hold on Cas. The guy was a lot heavier than he looked.

He was just down the hall from where Cas’s room was, the door ajar, when he heard Cas mumble again and press his face into the curve where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. He held stock-still as Cas shifted in his arms and his lips pressed against his exposed skin gently, sweetly, like it happened all the time.

Dean moved very slowly after that, carrying Cas down to his room and tucking him under the covers carefully.

* * *

Castiel looked at Sam. “I can’t even tell if it’s working. I thought it was. But he won’t talk to me about anything. And I don’t know if I should proceed if I’ve made him uncomfortable.”

Sam sighed. “Look, man, I wish I knew what to tell you. I thought you were doing a pretty good job. I mean, I tried talking about you the other day and it was like talking to a brick wall, his face got so red.” He laughed. “But he’s not saying anything to me, so I don’t know."

Maybe if Cas hadn’t rushed the touching, done so much all at once. He’d thought Dean would flip out when he snuggled close during the movie two days ago. But so far he had acted receptive, no protests or reminders of ‘personal space.’

And Castiel didn’t even know what he did _wrong_. Maybe Dean figured out what was going on and decided to put a stop to it. If he had, there was nothing Cas could do. It would be Dean’s decision. If Dean had found out, Castiel would be surprised if he weren’t out of the bunker within the week.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll get over himself eventually. He’s not stupid.”

No, Cas thought. But maybe I am. For thinking Dean would even want Cas, maybe he was. For all Sam’s more or less constant reassurances, Castiel couldn’t help but doubt Dean returned his feelings.

Regardless, maybe it was time for him to start the last part of his plan. If Dean rejected him, didn’t want him, then at least Castiel would be able to say he confessed how he felt before everything went to hell.

* * *

Dean rifled through the pages of notes that they’d taken on various manuscripts, hoping to find something that could deal with the Mark or at least delay its effects. Sam had mentioned something looked kinda promising; a spell that slowed down transitions of magical origin, like werewolfism, vampirism . . . maybe it could slow the effects of the Mark. It was worth a shot, at least.

The papers were scattered across the table, but suddenly one caught his eye. The top read, in handwritten script, _How to Court Dean_.

He snatched the paper up. The first item read, in the same crisp yet oddly messy handwriting, ~~_Sing. Classic rock, no love songs under any circumstances_~~. Dean wasn’t sure why it had been crossed out. ~~_Feed. Loves hamburgers, pie. Try not to burn anything._~~

Oh. Dean understood now. The next two items read ~~_Dress. Find something attractive to wear. Dean appreciates tight clothing_~~ and ~~_Dance? Dancing is difficult, but try if possible._~~ The fifth item said, ~~_Preen. Humans respond well to physical touch, but be careful Dean is very sensitive_~~

Dean’s heart jumped at that, but the last item remained uncrossed. _Kiss? If not rejected by now, this will definitely push you over his limit but try anyway you don’t have a choice anymore its live like this forever or do something about it._

He didn’t even realize he was moving until his foot collided with the doorframe of the library. He swore and tried to rub his toe and ease the pain.

Cas was in his room, curled up in his bed and reading _Animal Farm_. When Dean appeared in his doorway, a sudden look of fear and shock crossed his face. He jerked his chin up resolutely and stood.

“Before you say anything,” he said as Dean opened his mouth, “I need to–” he coughed. “I need to tell you something.” Dean closed his mouth.

Castiel took in a deep breath, wringing his hands nervously. “I haven’t been the best to you. I’ve manipulated you and lied and broken your brother’s mind, and I completely understand if what I’m about to say makes you angry. You have every right to ask me never to come back here.”

Before he could continue, Dean kissed him.

Their lips fit together. At first Cas was motionless, like he was in shock, but he began to return the kiss warily, sinking into it, giving himself over. Dean could feel him relax. Cas’s hands found their way to Dean’s hips as Dean’s wound up tangled in Cas’s hair and braced against his back.

When Cas stepped back suddenly, Dean felt himself chase Cas’s lips ever so slightly. The angel’s cheeks were flushed and his lips were red and damn it, Dean couldn’t stop this if he wanted to.

Cas stared up at him. He shook his head. “It’s not just lust, Dean, I need to be sure you understand. I am very much in love with you, and I’m fully aware that you might not be ready for that—”

Dean kissed him again. “I think I can handle it.”


End file.
